


i knew you before we met, and i don’t even know you yet

by fairytiger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytiger/pseuds/fairytiger
Summary: Amidst the row houses, there was a brick building with a single overhead light and an old wooden sign.The Burrow,it read, in loopy scrawl that looked as though it was done by not one, but many hands. And at the door was a boy--no, older than a boy, though not by much--with very red hair.“You alright?” he yelled.“Lost,” she yelled back.The boy held the door open.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 88
Kudos: 296





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's the year 2020, i wrote a coffeeshop au for a nearly 20-year-old ship, and when all is said and done, it will probably be close to 20K words.
> 
> it's quarantine, y'all; there are no rules anymore
> 
> title taken from "all i've ever known" from hadestown, which i listened to on repeat as i wrote this

Hermione Granger was lost.

In the rain, no less, the drops falling as hard and heavy as the tears on her cheeks. It was stupid to cry, but then, she hardly needed a good reason these days. Yesterday, it was misplacing her notes for Property Law. The day before, it was a little girl waving to her from the seat of her mum’s shopping cart at the market. 

And today, it was getting lost in her own neighborhood. In the rain. 

She hadn’t lived there long, in fairness, only just recently moved out of her parents’ and answered an ad for the first affordable place she saw.

_Wanted: female flatmate. Two bedroom in Walworth. Must be okay with doing most of the cleaning. No drugs, no weirdos, or getting too chummy._

She’d actually felt good these past two weeks, navigating the short commute to school with little difficulty. After two weeks, she felt brave enough to explore, sightsee, be a tourist in her own city.

Much harder to do in the pouring rain.

She checked her phone again, though how it would have magically charged since the last time she checked, she didn’t know. She was in the middle of shielding it from the rain when she heard a voice.

“Hey!” 

She turned toward it.

Amidst the row houses, there was a brick building with a single overhead light and an old wooden sign. _The Burrow,_ it read, in loopy scrawl that looked as though it was done by not one, but many hands. And at the door was a boy--no, older than a boy, though not by much--with very red hair.

“You alright?” he yelled.

“Lost,” she yelled back.

The boy held the door open.

The place smelled of coffee and wood smoke. There wasn’t a soul in sight, apart from the boy, and the music filtering through the speakers was barely audible over the sound of rain pelting against the windows.

“Have a seat,” said the boy, as he hopped over the counter in one swift jump. “Want something warm? Coffee, tea?”

“Tea, please,” said Hermione, peeling off her jacket. 

“Any particular kind?”

“Chamomile, if you’ve got it.”

While the boy busied himself with a cup and hot water, Hermione looked around more closely. The brick facade continued on the inside, the walls flanked by mismatched armchairs and ottomans instead of tables. Above her was a cacophony of chandeliers and Edison bulbs, Christmas lights strung up along the perimeter. None of it matched, and not in the posh way that was so trendy these days; it was as if it had been furnished by whatever was lying around. Everything functional, purposeful, and well-loved. 

“Here you go,” the boy said, placing a cup and saucer on her table, along with a small pot of hot water. “Brought lemon too. That’s how my mum drinks it. Not that you have to or anything--blimey, you’re soaked.”

He was being awfully kind, so Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Noticed that, did you?”

He smiled, a little crooked. Freckles scattered across his nose, but there was something older and knowing in his blue eyes.

_Ron_ , read his nametag. 

“You said you were lost. Where you headed?”

“Home.”

“Afraid you’ll need to be a bit more specific if you want my help.”

This time she did roll her eyes.

“I just need to charge my phone and then I can check the map.”

“Or you can ask me and get an answer a lot sooner.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“Try me.”

Hermione sat up straighter, folding her arms in challenge.

“Langford Road. You know it?”

Ron scoffed, but there was a smile behind it.

“Yeah, I know it. You’re nearly there. Two more blocks west and you’d run right into it.”

Hermione deflated.

“Oh.” Then, a thought occurred to her. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“What, you think I’m in the habit of sending girls out into the pouring rain with bad directions?”

“I don’t know what you’re in the habit of because I don’t know you.”

“I’m Ron, I run this shop, and I’m telling you, that’ll get you home.”

Hermione regarded him, then stuck out her hand.

“Hermione Granger.”

He eyed her hand, then her, and laughed a little before taking it.

“Nice to meet you.”

Whatever the usual length of a handshake was, this one was a second longer. 

Hermione pulled her hand away at last, digging through her bag for her phone charger.

“I’m going to wait out the weather here, if that’s alright.”

Ron smiled, glancing around the empty shop.

“Yeah, I think that’s alright. I’ll be in the back, yell if you need anything.”

It was an hour later when the heavy rain sputtered into a light mist. Chapters read for tomorrow’s lectures and her phone fully charged, Hermione pulled up the map and entered her address.

Two blocks west and she’d run right into it.

A smile fluttered at her lips before she straightened them into a neutral line. She packed up her things, glancing toward the curtain Ron had disappeared behind, unsure if this was a situation that warranted a goodbye. 

No, she decided. She’d bothered him enough for one night. 

Still, she waved in the direction of the curtain, before setting off for home.

x

Hermione never paid for the tea.

It occurred to her in class, in the middle of a fascinating lecture on various types of non-probate property.

She’d stolen from the boy with red hair, who’d brought her tea and found her way home. 

The shop was easy enough to find again, with the help of a cloudless sky and an unbearably beautiful fall day. The place was empty, just as it had been the night before. No customers, no sign of life, no Ron.

There was an old-fashioned bell on the counter, all brass and a wooden handle, like it was used to ring for dinner in a previous life. 

A minute passed, then two, before she rang it.

Nothing.

She rang the bell again, this time with a bit more force, when finally, from the back:

“Piss off, Perce, you’re not the bloody queen.”

Hermione dropped the bell in surprise.

“I--I’m sorry, I’m not--”

Ron stuck his head out from the curtain.

“Oh,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Percy’s the only one who ever uses the bell. But you’re obviously not, uhh--anyway. Welcome back.” 

He regarded her, crossing his arms over his chest. It didn’t make him any broader, but the sleeves of his t-shirt rode up a bit, revealing freckles on his arms too.

“You look different dry.”

It sounded like a compliment, but she couldn’t be sure.

“I just wanted to--I left yesterday before I could…” Her tongue felt like cotton candy. “I wanted to pay you for the tea.”

She held out her credit card, but Ron didn’t move. He didn’t even look at it.

“It’s on the house. Special circumstances, and all that.”

“No, really, it’s the least I can do.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to hold a bloody cup of tea over you, Hermione--it’s Hermione, right?” He didn’t really pronounce the “o”, stringing four syllables into three, and something in her stomach went _swoosh_. “Unless this isn’t really about the tea.”

“S-sorry?”

“My directions were right, and you feel guilty for thinking I was going to throw you to the wolves.”

“I did not--”

“‘S’alright, really. Knowing you got home safe,” he pressed a hand to his heart. “Is payment enough.”

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione huffed. “Can you please just let me pay so I can get out of here and never, ever come back?”

“Tell you what,” he said, bracing his arms on the counter. “Just say that I was right and we’ll call it even.”

“How old are you?” She was sorely tempted to stomp her foot, if it wouldn’t completely counter her own point.

“Old enough to know not to steal from a poor small business.” He smiled again. “Come on, Hermione. Just say it.”

Hermione closed her eyes. 

“Youwereright.”

“Ah, thanks Hermione, that means a lot.”

“Why do you keep saying my name?!”

“So I’ll remember it.”

Hermione blinked. 

He cleared this throat, busying himself with a to-go cup, filling it with hot water and a teabag.

“Am I allowed to pay for this one?” Hermione said as he slid the cup to her.

“I suppose. 2.50.”

She held out her credit card.

“Sorry, swipe-y thing is broken.”

“Are you joking?”

Ron shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Well, I don’t have any notes.”

“Guess you’ll just have to come back when you do.”

Hermione shouldered her messenger bag.

“That’s very unlikely.”

“Well then, it was nice knowing you.” He grabbed a takeaway sleeve and slipped the cup inside. _The Burrow_ was printed on one side, and on the back, in the same scrawl as the logo, _make yourself at home_.

“Take it,” he said. “It’s too nice a day not to walk home with tea.”

It was the second thing he was right about in as many days.

x

“Per your request,” Ginny said, poking her head through the crack in Hermione’s door. “I’m letting you know that some friends are coming over.”

Hermione didn’t look up from her book. 

“I believe I also requested that you knock first.”

“Well I requested no weirdos, so we can’t have everything, can we?”

From anyone else, this kind of barb would have sliced to the bone, but not from Ginny. She’d been as serious about the “no getting chummy” part of her ad as she had about the drugs. 

“I’m coming off an ugly breakup,” Ginny had said when they met, after a very brief tour and subsequent offer of the spare room. “And I can’t cover the rent alone. You in or out?”

Hermione was in, barbs and all.

It helped that Ginny kept odd hours--home while Hermione was at class, and gone at football practice by the time she got home. On certain weekends, when Ginny was away with the reserve team for which she played, it was almost like having the flat to herself. 

But then there were the occasional nights like this one, when Ginny would have teammates over, as was her right to do. It just always happened to land on a night when Hermione had a mountain of reading to do.

(As if there were any other kind of night).

“You could join us,” Ginny said now, though Hermione knew it was a baseless offer, made out of pity and hardwired manners.

“No thanks. Loads to do.”

“Alright then,” Ginny said, frowning at Hermione’s stack of books. “We’ll try and keep it down.”

To Ginny’s credit, there did seem to be a genuine attempt. For every roar of laughter, there was a loud shushing noise, but that only proved to be a bigger distraction. Hermione flipped through her textbook to the takeaway sleeve from The Burrow she’d been using as a bookmark. Five chapters to go.

She didn’t know why she kept it. When she’d gone to toss the cup, the words on the sleeve had struck her again. _Make yourself at home._

Yet no one was, judging by how empty the shop had been both times she’d gone. She glanced at her clock. At 7:00 on a Tuesday, it wasn’t likely to be busy. It’d be quiet, or at least quieter than it was here.

Another roar and _shh_ sounded from the living room, and five minutes later, Hermione was packed and out the door. 

There was no need to ring the bell this time around. Ron was drying mugs behind the counter, brow furrowed in concentration as he scraped at something on the handle.

“Hello again,” Hermione said as she approached the register, with a lofty casualness she didn’t quite feel.

Ron looked up, his face utterly blank.

“Can I help you?”

Hermione’s stomach bottomed out.

“I--umm--”

But then he burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You should see your face though, absolutely brilliant. It’s been a few days. Where’ve you been? Robbing the library?”

“The library?”

He nodded toward her bag, and she hefted it further on to her shoulder.

“Believe it or not, this is a light load for me.”

“Good god. Lawyer?”

“Trying to be.” Hermione eyed him. “How’d you know?”

Ron shrugged, picking up another mug.

“In my short time at uni, I never had that much reading. Not that I did the little bit I was assigned, anyway. Which is why I’m a barista and not a lawyer.”

“I’d kill to be a barista at the moment,” she admitted with a small laugh.

There was a beat of silence before Ron held out the mug to her.

“The usual?”

“I have a usual?”

“Well, it’s your third time here, and the two times before you ordered the same thing. So I guess it all depends on what you order next.”

Hermione only pretended to think about it.

“My usual, please.”

Ron smiled.

Hermione settled into the armchair by the bookshelf, with its adjoining side table large enough to accommodate her books. She was surprisingly productive, more so than she thought she would be away from home, even if she was hyper aware of Ron’s every move. How he could weave around the space without looking, how he whistled tunes different than what played through the speakers. But eventually he blurred into the background, along with the rest of the shop, a steady presence that allowed her to tune out the rest of the world and focus solely on the reading. 

It felt like only minutes later when Ron ducked out from behind the curtain.

“You hungry?”

She blinked up from her book, squinting.

“What?”

“I’ve got stuff for sandwiches. Don’t make any ahead of time because...well, obviously,” he said nodding toward the still-empty shop. “What do you like? Turkey? Roast beef?”

Hermione glanced at her watch and gasped.

“It’s nearly 10:00.”

“Yeah. So, what’ll you have?”

“Aren’t you closing soon?”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Err, we closed about an hour ago.”

“What?” she sputtered. “You should have told me!”

“I tried! A couple times, actually.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

“Sorry.”

“Forget it, you were in the zone. My brother, Percy, was the same way in school, always harping on us if we ever made any noise while he was trying to study. At least my banging around here doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“No,” Hermione said, puzzled, thinking of Ginny and her friends back home. “Apparently not.”

“Soooo,” Ron drew out. “Sandwich?”

She needed to leave. She needed to go home and eat her leftover curry from the night before.

“Turkey,” she said, resolute.

“Cheese?”

“Sure.”

“Coming up.”

The sandwich revived her long enough to finish her last chapter, and as she packed up to leave, Ron was still eating his own.

“How much do I owe you?”

“I’ve already closed up the register, too much work to open it back up.”

He talked with his mouth full and there was a bit of mustard at the corner of his lip, but Hermione found herself smiling anyway.

“I’ve yet to pay for anything here, you know.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m keeping a tab.”

x

It was a bit of a routine after that.

A carefully timed, well thought out routine.

She did not go two days in a row. 

She alternated between prolonged study sessions and quick stops for takeaway. She tried a different seat every time, but the one by the bookshelf was her favorite, and she only allowed herself to sit there if she was in it for the long haul.

She paid. She _insisted_ on paying.

“It’s weird now,” Ron said the first time she did. “It’s like charging a stray puppy for a water dish.”

She threw an extra pound in the tip jar for that, and he hadn’t said a word since.

Still, there were refills she didn’t ask for and the occasional turkey sandwich, even homemade cranberry scones (”Mum would kill me if she knew anyone paid for them, so don’t even try.”).

Ginny would say that going to a coffee shop to study didn’t count as socializing, that she should still be _out there_ , meeting people.

But Ginny wasn’t there, and Ron was, and the chamomile was very, very good. 

x

“Are you the only one who works here?”

It was a Saturday and Hermione’s first non-class day trip to The Burrow. She’d gone in the morning, just as an experiment, to see who else might be there, to see if there’d be a weekend rush.

But it was just Ron, and while there was no rush per se, it was also the first time she’d had to wait in a line. Ron was polite with every customer, but his shoulders appeared to visibly relax when Hermione was the only one left.

“Why?” Ron asked now, peering over his shoulder at her as he changed out the coffee filters. “Am I boring you?”

She ignored him, sipping her tea while she waited.

“The short answer is no. My brothers and sister are supposed to take shifts. And they do, to be fair, just not lately.”

“Why not?”

Ron gestured to the empty shop.

“Not exactly short-handed.”

Hermione frowned at her cup, then took a sip before she asked, “How many of you are there?”

“Seven. Kids, that is, but my parents are the ones who own the place. Dad worked for the government for a while while Mum stayed home with us, but they got bored or went mental or something, because they took every cent of savings and put it into the shop. They still come in sometimes, but Mum can’t be on her feet all day, and then there’s Dad’s back...and I’ve just told you way more than you wanted to know, haven’t I?”

“No!” She was so emphatic, she nearly knocked over her cup, quieting her voice as she righted it again. “No, you didn’t. I was the one who asked.”

“Why did you?” It wasn’t accusatory, but it was careful, and Hermione was equally careful to answer.

“It’s just...it has a family feel to it, you know? It shouldn’t just be you here, bearing the brunt of it all.”

“I’m the only one who hasn’t got anything to do. No school, no other job...this is it.”

There was the smallest note of defeat in his voice, but Hermione barreled on.

“But what if you got busy all of a sudden? People should know about this place, and not just because they happened to get lost in a rainstorm.”

Ron attempted a smile, but couldn’t manage it fully.

“We do fine, you know. It’s slow, yeah, but we make do.”

“Do you do any special events? An open mic night or something?”

“And hear a bunch of blokes reading their terrible poetry? No thanks.”

“You could do a quiz night, or host an art show or--”

“Hermione.” Ron’s voice was hard and brittle. “Leave it, alright? It’s not your problem to solve.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something in his voice told her not to. Not yet, anyway.

“Fine.”

A moment passed. Ron took a long breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked back at her with a trying smile, and beckoned her behind the counter.

“Want to see something cool?”

“Am I allowed?”

“Are you-- _yes_ , Hermione, you’re allowed.”

She rounded the counter to stand next to him by the espresso machine. Ron placed a cup under the spouts, pressed a few buttons, and it sputtered to life. While shots dripped into the cup, he poured milk into a tin canister, frothing it under the steamer. It hissed, steam billowing up and ruffling the bit of hair along his forehead.

“Ready?” he asked.

Hermione nodded.

Ron poured the steamed milk over the espresso, swirling it this way and that, until the shape of a heart began to take form. 

“That’s lovely,” Hermoine said with a small, delighted laugh, peering over his shoulder. 

“Just something I picked up while I was bored one day. I can do a leaf, too.”

It wasn’t until he turned that she realized just how close she’d been standing. He was very tall, looking down at her with very blue, searching eyes, and in that moment, Hermione knew that whatever this was before was something different now. 

“Sorry I pried,” she said quietly.

But Ron just smiled.

“You want to try it?”

Her first few were terrible--”is that supposed to be a cat? For the sake of your pride, let’s call it a cat.”--but she managed a decent looking leaf on her fifth try. 

Had anyone else come in, they would have had to stop. Ron would have gone back to work, and Hermione would have gone back home.

But no one did, and so she stayed.

x

_There’s someone in my chair._

Hermione knew it was absurd from the moment she thought it, but that was little comfort at the moment, because someone was sitting in her chair. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, with messy black hair that fell in front of wire-rimmed glasses. He and Ron were bent over a chess set at one of the tables along a wall, Ron’s hand pressed to his mouth in concentration, his eyes carefully scanning the board. Then his whole face changed, blooming into a smirk as he moved his knight, causing the other boy to hang his head.

“--every time. Literally, every time,” the boy was saying as Hermione quietly pushed her way through the door.

“Not every time. You held your own when we were what, eleven?”

“Piss off--oh, erm, sorry.”

The other boy stood abruptly at the sight of Hermione. Ron turned to follow his friend’s gaze and smiled, albeit confused.

“Welcome to The Burrow,” said the other boy robotically. “How can I help--”

“‘S’alright, Harry, I got it,” Ron said, though he stood too, pausing over the chessboard to move one last piece. “Checkmate.”

The boy--Harry--swore under his breath and began to clean up the pieces as Ron moved toward the register.

“It’s Tuesday,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You have Con Law on Tuesdays.”

“I’m aware of my schedule, Ron, thank you.”

“Sheesh, you’re cheery. Was it cancelled or something?”

“It was, as a matter of fact. I thought I’d pop in, but now I’m not sure why.”

“Going through argument withdrawal, I’d imagine.”

“Ahem.”

Hermione turned toward Harry, who was watching them like a tennis match with an amused smile.

“Right, sorry,” Ron said. “Harry, Hermione. Hermione, Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hermioned said, extending her hand.

“Likewise. How do you two, uhh…”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance.

“I saved Hermione’s life,” Ron said nobly.

“He did not. He gave me directions--”

“--In the middle of a storm.”

“And I’ve been bothering him ever since.“

Harry cut a glance to Ron, who’d gone a bit pink in the ears. 

“Right.”

There was an awkward beat where no one quite knew what to say or where to look. 

“Well, I’ll be off, then,” Hermione said. “Take advantage of the extra study time.”

“But your class was canceled,” Harry started. Ron shook his head.

“Don’t bother, mate, she’s addicted.”

“I am not!”

“Prove it. Skip studying and laze around here, like Harry always does.”

Harry ignored this.

“Yeah, stay. Or at least, don’t leave on my account. Ever played chess?

Hermione played with him, poorly, sitting in the chair opposite that was not hers but would do for the moment. She learned that Harry and Ron had been friends since primary school, and while he was vague about what he did for work, he spoke proudly of coaching a youth football club in his spare time.

“I wanted to go professional myself, but I’ve got a bad ankle.”

Hermione glanced at Ron, who rolled his eyes from behind the counter.

“That’s too bad. My flatmate, she actually--”

Just then Harry’s cell rang, and when he looked at the caller ID, his expression turned both tortured and hopeful. 

“So sorry, got to take this. Hey,” his voice went soft as he excused himself to the front of the shop. Hermione took full advantage, stealing her chair back just as Ron brought her another tea.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Hermione asked, nodding towards Harry.

“If I had to guess, given how he nearly tripped over himself, ex-girlfriend. Also known as, my little sister.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Yes, it’s very weird, I try not to think about it.”

“I should hope not. They still talk?”

“Yeah. No idea why. I think they’re trying to be friendly for my sake, but honestly, I liked it better when they were snogging each other’s face off, and that’s really saying something.”

The word “girlfriend” hung in the air. Hermione had never thought about it, never even considered where Ron might go or do when he wasn’t working, but now she couldn’t stop. There was no way to ask without making it seem like she had a reason for asking. And she didn’t, not really.

Ron had no such qualms.

“What about you? Boyfriend?”

She nearly choked on her tea.

“Uhh, no. No boyfriend. No time, really.” She pushed her hair behind her ears, searching for somewhere, anywhere to look that wasn’t him.

“You’re here,” Ron pointed out. “You’ve got time for that.”

“I _study_ here.”

“Sometimes.”

Hermione felt her cheeks go hot.

“It’s one thing to study somewhere new and quite another to make the time to...to date.”

“I don’t know,” Ron shrugged. “Sounds like a bit of an excuse.”

“Oh it does, does it?”

“I’ve seen the workload you bring in here. It has to be at least two week’s worth. Date, don’t date, but don’t bury yourself in work just because it’s safer. Take a breath once in awhile.”

“You mean like you did?” she spat. “You have _no_ idea what it’s like. How could you possibly know?”

She gasped, stricken. 

But Ron’s face barely moved. He merely nodded, like she’d just confirmed his worst suspicion.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

“Ron—“

But then Harry came back in, holding out his phone.

“Ron, she wants to chat about next Friday.”

Ron took it into the back without another look or word in her direction.

x

Hermione Granger was lost again.

When she wasn’t home, she was at class, but couldn’t concentrate at either place. When she wanted to go out, she went to the library instead. At one particularly low moment, she tried going to a Starbucks, but turned right around before she even made it to the door. 

School used to be a refuge, a place where she knew who she was and what she could do. But instead of the lectures, all she heard was _how could you possibly know?_ Instead of her reading, all she saw was Ron’s blank, impassable face.

The closest thing she had to a friend and she ruined it.

It took a week for the second closest thing she had to a friend to call her out on it.

“Alright, enough sulking. We’re going out.”

Ginny threw a piece of fabric at Hermione. And that’s truly what it was; a piece of black jersey knit in the vague shape of a dress.

“What is this?” Hermione held it up like a used tissue.

“A dress. My brother’s band is playing at a pub and you’re coming with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermione said, throwing it back at her.

“What, it’s cute on! You can even wear tights if you’re worried about your bum showing.”

“That is the least of my worries.”

“Look,” Ginny began, throwing her hair up into a ponytail. On anyone else, it would look like a last resort, but like everything Ginny did, this one looked effortless. “You’ve been gloomy all week, have barely left your room, let alone the flat. I’m going to get you out of here, and you’re going to come with me so I don’t have to face my ex alone.”

Ginny tightened her ponytail like a vice. Hermione had never seen her nervous. 

“You’re not...scared of him, are you?”

“God, no,” Ginny laughed. “It’s not like that. He’s quite sweet and earnest and...good.” She trailed off, lost in her thoughts for only a moment, before she smoothed her hair and turned back to Hermione.

“Please,” she said finally, a bit of earnestness in her own voice. 

Hermione smiled a little.

“This feels awfully close to getting chummy.”

“Alright, alright, don’t ruin it.”

And so for the first time ever in her life, Hermione set aside her books, and went out on a Friday night. Ginny had given her exactly five minutes to get ready, though she only needed three, much to Ginny’s chagrin.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?”

Hermione tugged at her shirt.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It has a collar for one,” Ginny said, assessing her up and down. “Buttons, for another. Are you going to a pub or a job interview?”

“Well, it’ll have to do.”

“Fine, but we’re not leaving until you lose two buttons.”

“No.”

“Are you wearing a cute bra at least?”

“ _Ginny_.”

“ _Fine_. Grab your coat, we’re walking.”

They headed out into the night, tip toeing around slushy piles of melted snow and wet leaves. Hermione followed Ginny’s lead, assuming they must be close to the pub if she was willing to brave November temperatures. But then Ginny made a familiar right turn on a street that Hermione was quite sure did not have a pub.

“You sure it’s this way?”

“Yeah, but we’re making a stop first.”

“Where?”

“My family’s shop. Did I never tell you? Mum and Dad own a little coffee place not far from here. They haven’t worked there in ages--neither have I for that matter--but my brother runs it now, bless him.”

Hermione stopped dead in the street.

“The Burrow?”

Ginny’s mouth quirked into a suddenly extremely familiar smile.

“Yeah. You’ve been? Small world.”

“Ginny,” Hermione panted, jogging to keep up with her. The shop was just ahead; she could see a couple of figures waiting out front. The taller one had to be Ron, locking the door, and the other--

“Harry?” Hermione said.

Ron stilled.

“Hermione?”

Every single person looked at the other in confusion.

“How do you--” Ginny started.

“Harry’s your ex?”

“ _She’s_ your flatmate?” Harry cut in.

“You live with my sister?”

Hermione’s head spun.

“Oh my god,” Ginny said with a maniacal laugh. “This is where you’ve been going! And all of a sudden you stopped? What did you do, Ron, break her heart or something?”

“No!” Hermione shouted. “I mean, yes, I was coming here, but he didn’t--I didn’t know you were...” She looked to Ron, for help or forgiveness, she wasn’t entirely sure. His face was maddeningly blank, just as it had been the last time she saw him. 

“Bloody small world,” Ginny said, shaking her head as she walked on.

x 

The Phoenix was still a few blocks away, giving Hermione more time than she’d like to walk in awkward silence with Ron. Harry and Ginny walked ahead, side by side, a meaningful distance between them.

“So,” Hermione started, her voice high. “Your brother’s in a band?”

Ron huffed a laugh.

“Yeah. They’re alright. Bit loud for my taste; half the time I don’t know what they’re screaming about.”

“But you still go.”

Ron shrugged.

“He’s my brother.”

They fell into silence again, the only sound Ginny’s occasional laugh from up ahead. Hermione wondered if Ginny knew that Harry looked at her like it was the most wonderful sound in the world.

“I swear I didn’t know, Ron,” Hermione said again, quietly. 

“I know. Still weird, though.”

“Bad weird?”

“Is there a good kind?”

“I like to think I’m living proof.”

He smiled, almost as if he couldn’t help it, and she gathered it up for courage.

“About what I said last week--”

“Look, don’t worry about it. We don’t need to do...all this. It’s fine.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I have a pretty good idea, yeah, but if it’s not an apology and you just want to remind me how smart you are, then we really don’t have anything to talk about.”

A minute ago, she’d been something close to heartbroken. Now she just wanted to throttle him.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“ _I’m_ infuriating? That’s rich.”

“You are! I’ve been miserable all week and you won’t even hear me out. Do you always assume the worst in people?”

“Yeah, one of my many faults. Ask anyone.”

“Maybe I will. Give me your mum’s number so I can tell her what an absolute git her son is being.”

“You mean you don’t already have it?”

“ _Ron_ \--”

“Everything alright?” came Harry’s voice. He and Ginny were at the door to the pub, looking unsure if they should go in or referee.

Ron raised his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Yes,” Hermione said briskly, still looking at him. “We’re coming.”

The Phoenix was packed, though with patrons or fans of the band, it was impossible to tell. Harry and Ron fought their way to the bar while Ginny led Hermione to a table where the rest of the Weasleys were seated. There were so many of them; same hair, same freckles, same kind eyes. 

“Mum,” Ginny said, tugging on her sleeve. “This is my flatmate, Hermione.”

“Oh my dear, it’s so lovely to meet you!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, pulling Hermione into a hug. “My goodness, that’s a pretty top. Brings out your lovely eyes.”

“Flatmate?” said Mr. Weasley, then in a slightly lower voice. “You said your flatmate was a bit loopy.”

“Look, it’s Harry,” said Ginny loudly, pulling him into the fray. Ron was close behind, carrying two pints, and offered one to Hermione.

“Beer isn’t going to help me tell you all apart,” she said as she took the glass, glancing at the sea of red at the table.

“Well, Bill will be the one on stage, so that’s easy. Charlie’s the shortest of all of us. No one can tell Fred and George apart, anyway. Percy’s the one with a stick up his arse. And you know Ginny.” He said this last part with just a touch of bitterness.

“How many times do I have to say I didn’t know?”

“I believe you.”

“Then stop pouting.”

“I’m _not_.”

“You are! What does it change, Ron, honestly? What if you’d invited me and we bumped into Ginny? Would it still bother you?”

“Yes,” he said seriously.

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to like them all better!”

Applause erupted then, followed by the sharp squeal of a mic reverberating. The band took the stage, the frontman unmistakably Bill Weasley, with hair nearly as long as Ginny’s.

“Here,” Ron said, hastily pressing something into her palm. Two orange earplugs. 

She looked at him, but he just glowered at the stage.

“My hearing’s shot anyway.”

Her anger flared, but then the music started, and Ginny took her by the hand, leading her further into the crowd. It wasn’t really music made for dancing, but that didn’t stop Ginny. 

Maybe it was the beer or the heat of the crowd or just a bone-deep need not to let Ron bother her, but Hermione danced with everything she had. She and Ginny jumped, twirled, and spun like mad. Harry joined eventually, doing his best to keep up, adjusting his glasses every few minutes as they slid down his nose. Ron barely moved beside them, hands in his pockets, determined to be as miserable as possible, it seemed.

Hermione didn’t give him the satisfaction. She jumped right in front of him, swinging her hips, mouthing along to words that weren’t there. He watched her, cracks in his stony expression as he tried to fight a smile. Bill screamed something into the mic, and the crowd screamed back. Ron and Hermione stared at each other in bewilderment, then screamed along, right at each other, until they were breathless with laughter.

They danced and sang and screamed some more, until the band took their final bow and the pub announced last call. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley yawned as they hugged each of their children goodbye, even Harry and Hermione. 

They stayed long enough to congratulate Bill on the set--”you think we were loud enough?” “Yeah, mate, I think you’re safe there.”--before piling out into the night. 

“Anyone up for a bite?” Ginny asked. “I’m starving.”

“Sounds good,” said Harry eagerly, just as Hermione bit back a yawn.

“Sorry, but tomorrow’s going to be murder as it is. Better get home.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny said with a slight frown and a glance at Harry. “Well, I’ll go with you then.”

“Go on,” said Ron. “I’ll walk with her.”

“Yeah?” Ginny looked between the two of them. “Okay, well, see you at home.” She pressed a quick kiss to Hermione’s cheek, then Ron’s, before setting off with Harry, the previous distance between them carved in half.

The streets were quiet as they walked, just the sound of shoes on wet pavement and the hum of the streetlamps. She’d never seen her neighborhood this time of night; she’d rarely seen this time of night at all. When she did, it was always at home, studying, reading a book she couldn’t put down. The air felt different this late, crisp and cold, with the smell of chimney smoke and snow. 

“That was fun,” Hermione said at last, for want of anything better.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “I particularly liked the one where they screamed the whole time.”

“Ah, but what about the one where they screamed the whole time?”

“That _was_ wicked, you’re right.”

They ambled down the streets despite the cold. Hermione was still warm from the beer, from the crowd, the dancing. It really had been fun, and she almost hadn’t gone at all. What might have happened, she wondered. How long would it have taken for her to realize that Ron Weasley had been skirting around the perimeter of her life long before she’d stumbled into his shop?

“It was cool of you to come,” Ron said after a moment. “I know we can be a lot.”

“I liked it,” Hermione said truthfully. “Being around a big family. I’m an only child.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Mum and Dad wanted more, I think, but…” she shrugged. “Just me.”

“‘Just’, she says.”

She spared a glance at Ron, but he kept his head down, only illuminated every few feet by a street lamp.

“What did you mean earlier? When you said I’d like them better?”

“Ah, forget it. I was being a prat.”

“I’m not arguing with that.” She just barely brushed her shoulder with his. “Seriously. What did you mean?”

Ron shrugged.

“It’s just how it always is. Hard to stand out when there’s six other kids, and all of them have _something_. Bill’s the rockstar, Charlie’s adventurous, Percy’s smart--at least he thinks he is. Fred and George have the sense of humor and Ginny’s the jock. So where does that leave me?” He shook his head. “Harry’s the only person who ever took the time to get to know me, to be _my_ friend, but even he went and dated my sister. I know it’s stupid, but when I saw you walk up with Ginny, I thought ‘of course’. Of course you’re friends with her first.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks to regard him.

“That’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Wow, great. Glad I poured my heart out.”

“No, listen to me,” she tugged on his arm to make him stop and face her. “You run your family’s shop. You’re single handedly keeping it going. You borrow new books from the library so that there are new things to read, and you put the kids ones on the lower shelf where they can reach--don’t argue, I know you do. You go to your brother’s concerts even though you hate the music, and you manage to show up for both Harry and Ginny without ever taking sides. And if you think that’s not _something_ , then you really are an idiot.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Thank God you added the last part, I was worried you’d pulled a switch on me.”

“Ron,” she said, imploring. If she didn’t get this out, she might never have the courage to go back. Even if she did, it might never be the same. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was unfathomably rude. I think you’re brilliant for what you’re doing at that shop, and if I ever made you doubt that, I’m truly, sincerely sorry.”

Ron tore his gaze away from her, smiling at the ground.

“Unfathomably, eh? Now you’re just showing off.”

“Ron--”

“It’s okay, Hermione. Really. I’m sorry, too.” His eyes were so sincere, she had to look away.

“I understand if you don’t want me coming around anymore.”

“Oh blimey, don’t be a martyr. You’re the only business we get from 4:00 to 8:00, I’m not going to turn you away.”

Hermione shoved him, pulling her coat tighter, even though she felt warm from head to toe.

When he’d offered to walk her home, she didn’t think about the part at the front door. The awkward shuffling of feet and playing with keys. 

“You two don’t leave the porch light on?” Ron asked with a frown.

“We would if it worked. The landlord’s promised to fix it for ages now.”

A porch light would have been very handy at the moment so she could see him better. As it was, he was cast in shadow, moonlight touching only a few corners of his face. 

“Thanks again for coming tonight,” he said. “And for, you know...saying all that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, she took a stuttering step toward him and hugged him. It was quick, over before it really began, but she pressed her cheek to his in the barest hint of a kiss.

He blinked a little when she pulled back, surprised but pleased.

“‘Night, Ron,” she said hurriedly, jogging up her steps.

“‘Night, Hermione.” It was soft, barely audible over the turn of her keys in the door.

She peeked through the curtains once she was safely inside to find him standing there, looking in the spot she’d just occupied, before he finally turned and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments! 
> 
> I must apologize to any UK readers for what I'm sure is an oversimplification--or total misunderstanding--of the path to becoming a lawyer in your great country. I did my best to research but inevitably got some details wrong. I hope you can overlook it for the sake of our girl's journey :)

The invitation was pinned to the corkboard above her desk. A Christmas party with her cohort, hosted by the department chair. Friday night, cocktail attire, plus-ones permitted.

Hermione could picture the words even from her chair at The Burrow. Mocking her, daring her. She had a textbook propped in her lap, but she hadn’t read a word, just turning her pen over and over on the page.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, replacing her old cup of tea with a fresh one. 

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t looked at your book once since you got here. You sick or something?”

“I must be ill if I’m not studying, is that it?”

“Well, yeah.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and he nudged her foot with his. “What’s up?”

“I’m just thinking about this...party I have to go to. For school.”

“Oh no, not a _party_.”

“Not like that,” she said, rolling her eyes. Maybe this would be easier if she were annoyed. “It’s with my class, sort of a last hurrah before things get cutthroat. Anyway, I have to, um, bring someone.”

Ron stilled, the pot of hot water poised in mid air.

“Oh.”

“I don’t _have_ to, I suppose. But everyone else will, I’m sure, and it’d be nice if I had an actual friend there.” 

The truth of it was, Hermione didn’t think anyone expected her to go, let alone bring someone. Not once in three years had she been invited to a study group or a drink after class, and that had been just fine. 

But this felt important and different, and just once, Hermione wanted to exceed expectations in a way that had nothing to do with school.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, fiddling with her pen.

Ron winced.

“Is it fancy? Like, wear-a-tie sort of thing?”

“No, not necessarily. Just a nice jacket.”

This, judging by the look on his face, was not a consolation.

“Hermione, I’m not...good at this stuff.”

“Well, neither am I.”

The tips of Ron’s ears turned pink, and as he busied himself with refilling the stir sticks, Hermione thought it likely that they both meant more than just the party.

“You should take Harry,” Ron said, quiet and defeated.

“What?”

“He’s better at this kind of thing. He’ll have more to talk about with them. And he owns a tie.”

“Forget the tie!”

Hermione was mid-screech when the door opened to a hurried-looking mother with a baby balanced on her hip. Ron adjusted his expression into something pleasant and neutral, moving to the register while Hermione sunk into her chair, wishing it would swallow her whole.

Embarrassment quickly gave way to anger, and before she could think better, she texted Harry.

_I’ve got a party with my class on Friday. Want to come? Fancy dress._

Hermione eyed Ron as she waited for a reply. He was making funny faces at the baby, who squealed with delight, while the mum looked at Ron like she wanted to ruffle his hair.

Harry texted back.

_Sounds fun. What time?_

Simple, easy. Not one mention of a bloody tie.

“Alright,” Ron said, biting into a scone as he emerged from behind the counter, a fresh mug of something hot in his hands. “I’ll go. Percy owes me a shift anyway.”

“Harry’s going. I just asked him.”

“Oh.” He blinked, swallowing hard. “That was fast.”

Hermione just shrugged.

“Right, well, good.” But Ron didn’t look good at all. He set the cup on her table. “You can have this if you like. Messed it up the first time.”

There was a lopsided heart drawn in the milk. She didn’t drink coffee, but Ron had gone in the back before she could tell him. 

x

The embarrassment was nothing compared to realizing she’d have to tell Ginny.

“So I have this party on Friday--”

“And you’re going with Harry.” Ginny sat atop her bedspread, painting her toes the same shade of green as her uniform. “He told me.”

“Just as friends,” Hermione said quickly. “It’s just a school thing.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

But Friday came, and Ginny made herself extremely scarce, dashing out early before Hermione was even awake. 

_Practice, then out with friends_ , read the scrawled note tacked to the fridge. _Have fun tonight_.

Hermione thought she couldn’t feel any lower.

And then that night, an hour before Harry was due to pick her up, she heard the power tools.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Hermione said as she flung the door open, clutching the neck of her robe to brace herself against the December chill.

“Fixing your porch light,” Ron said from atop a ladder, looking between his phone and the light, which hung off the wall to reveal a mess of wires.

“It’s freezing! Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“No, but this bloke on YouTube does. How hard could it be?”

“And it has to be done right now? Tonight of all nights?”

Ron said nothing.

Hermione slammed the door.

She fumed as she got ready, slipping on the simple, off-the-shoulder black dress that’d been hanging in her closet since her first year of uni, and applied a shade of red to her lips that made her feel like someone else entirely. Someone who didn’t agonize over a party, who didn’t mind going with a friend, who didn’t give herself one final look in the hallway mirror and wondered what the person who said “no” would think. 

Ron was still tinkering outside as she grabbed her coat and clutch. She had no idea if any progress had been made, but the porch was still dark when she stepped outside, growing darker with the setting sun.

“Can you move, please?” Hermione glared up at him.

Ron’s nose was red from the cold, and when he looked at her, he let out a short puff of air that was gone as soon as it appeared. 

“Well?” she spat.

“I--” Ron blundered for a moment. “I thought he was picking you up.”

“I’ll meet him down the street,” Hermione muttered, slipping around the ladder and jogging down the stairs.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said, beginning to climb down.

“ _Ron_ ,” she hissed, whirling around to face him. “It’s not your concern. I asked you to go, you told me to take someone else, so I am. Stay, fix the light, I don’t really care, just let me go. Please.”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but then looked behind her and nodded his head.

“Hey.”

Hermione turned to see Harry walking up the lane. He looked sharp in a wool peacoat and dress slacks, his hair combed in an attempt at neatness. 

“Hey,” he nodded back to Ron, then smiled at Hermione. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

Harry glanced at the door.

“Is, umm--”

“Practice,” Hermione said.

“Right.”

No one said anything for what felt like a century.

Finally, mercifully, Harry said, “Ready?”

“Ready,” Hermione nodded, and began walking without another look back.

x

The party was a surprisingly good time. 

Harry fit in quite well with her school crowd, shaking hands and making pleasant small talk, asking questions and making her classmates laugh in a way that made them notice Hermione as much as they did him.

“Been hiding him from us this whole time, have you?” Padma said to her with a wink, and Hermione felt like a fraud.

The party dispersed around eleven, the night still plenty young for Friday, and while most of her class headed to Dean Thomas’s for another round, Harry and Hermione walked in unspoken agreement in the direction of her flat.

“Thanks for coming,” Hermione said as they walked. “It was nice not to have to do that alone.”

“Happy to help.”

The route home took them right past The Burrow, completely dark, save for a single light by the window. The _open_ sign was flipped to _see you tomorrow!_

“I’m sorry about Ron,” Harry said after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Hermione, I know I wasn’t your first ask.”

She blushed in the dark.

“It’s alright. Like I said, happy to help. But Ron...he can be difficult about these kinds of things.”

“What things?” Hermione huffed. “Fancy parties? Passed appetizers and free champagne?”

“Pretty much. Come to think of it, you might have sold the appetizers a bit more if you wanted him to come.”

Harry knocked his shoulder with hers.

“It’s not you. Well, actually, it is, but not in the way you think.”

“Oh, that makes me feel loads better, thanks.”

“I just mean...look, Ron wants to do right by everyone, always. And if he thought there was the slightest chance that he might embarrass you tonight, then he’d rather disappoint you by not going than make you regret that he went at all.”

Hermione considered this, pulling her scarf tighter. 

“He wouldn’t have. Disappointed me, I mean.”

“I know,” Harry said, weary. “He’s being thick, and I told him as much. But stubbornness is a Weasley family trait, in case you haven’t noticed.”

His voice went soft, almost wistful on the last words.

“What happened with you two?” Hermione asked. She didn’t clarify, but she didn’t need to. 

“Ah, that.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, looking more like himself now that it was mussed. “Ginny never told you?”

Hermione shook her head.

“We don’t talk like that...not really.” She glanced at Harry, who looked pained. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. 

“We were friends first, you know. For a long time, she was just Ron’s little sister, always tagging along. And then one day...she wasn’t. I don’t think we ever really had a conversation about it, to tell you the truth. It was like it was inevitable, like we’d been building to it our whole lives without ever realizing it.”

“What changed?”

“Wish I could tell you. Things were great, better than great, or at least I thought. She’d signed to the reserves team, I bought her jersey, I bought a ring…” 

Harry looked up at her, panicked.

“Don’t tell her that, please--”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Hermione’s heart felt wrung out, but lighter too, like in taking on Harry’s burden, she’d lifted some of her own. 

“I still love her,” Harry said quietly, after another stretch of silence. “That hasn’t changed. It’s not like a normal breakup where you can cut the other person out of your life and move on. Ron, the entire Weasley family...they’re my family too. And if friends is all I get with Ginny, then I’ll take it and be grateful.”

Hermione thought of Ginny’s words.

_He’s quite sweet and noble and good_.

The porch was still dark as they approached the flat, but Hermione could just make out a ladder propped next to the door.

“Do you think you’ll get back together?” Hermione asked, still staring at the door.

“I don’t know.” Harry glanced at her. “Do you think Ron will fix the light?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I won’t stop him from trying.”

x

Hermione woke to the now familiar sound of a drill outside, only this time she didn’t have the energy to be angry. 

“You’ll wake the neighbors,” she said to Ron as she stepped outside, tightening her robe. He was back on the ladder, fiddling with the exposed wire.

“Almost done, I think.”

“Are you hungry?”

He shook his head.

“I can make some coffee, if you’d like.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake--can we just talk? Please?”

Hermione didn’t wait for him to follow her. Back inside, she filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Ron ambled in eventually, looking put out as he pulled off his beanie, leaving a mess of red hair in its wake.

“Grab that tin, will you?” she asked, opening the pantry.

He stood behind her, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he reached for the coffee tin.

Ron handed it to her, but did not let go.

“You looked really pretty last night,” he said quietly.

Hermione’s heart skyrocketed to her throat, but plummeted just as quickly.

“Thanks,” she muttered, moving to go. He was so tall, though, blocking nearly the entire entryway with just his long frame. 

“You always do, but still. I liked the red lipstick.”

“Enough.” Hermione slid around him, moving to the stove. “You didn’t want to go, Ron, you said so yourself.”

“I know that.”

“So what is this? You being here when he shows up and here again the next morning? You don’t get to be hurt and jealous.”

“I’m not--” Ron scrubbed at his hair in frustration. “Look, you don’t have to make me feel bad, alright, I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Well,” she laughed hollowly. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey,” Ginny leaned out from her bedroom doorway. “It’s too bloody early for a shouting match.”

“Good, you’re up,” Hermione said, tossing the spoon she’d been using to scoop grounds onto the counter with a clang. “I don’t know which one of you needs to hear this, but I am not interested in Harry Potter. I am not the least bit attracted to him. No offense, Gin.”

Ginny shrugged.

“None taken.”

“And you,” Hermione said, turning to Ron. “Don’t electrocute yourself just to make a point. Because next time there’s a party, I’d appreciate it if you weren’t dead. Do you understand?”

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding.

“Well, that was beautiful,” Ginny said with a yawn. “But I’m going back to bed.” 

She looked at Hermione.

“You mean it? You don’t fancy him?

“Not even a little.”

Ginny smiled wickedly.

“Your taste is rubbish anyway.”

Ron’s face turned scarlet as Ginny closed the door. The kitchen seemed too big and too quiet all of a sudden.

Hermione cleared her throat and nodded at the coffee.

“Do you take milk?”

“Erm,” Ron said with a small smile. “I don’t actually drink coffee.”

“What?” Hermione sputtered with a laugh. “You own a coffee shop!”

“I _run_ a coffee shop, and we also serve tea, last I checked.”

“It’s a good thing, too,” Hermione said. “I might never have come back otherwise.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, smiling fully now. “Thank god for that.”

x

The end of the term descended upon Hermione, and not even the comfort of The Burrow was enough to pry her from the flat in the following days. The comfort was precisely why she couldn’t go; it was one thing to study or write there for regular assignments, but final exams were another thing entirely. 

She was markedly relieved to see that she was still productive at home, that the warmth of the shop and Ron’s presence had not become the crutch she suspected they might be. But then, she wasn’t entirely without its comforts. When Ginny returned home from practice in the evenings, she always had something with her: tea, a sandwich, some of Mrs. Weasley’s scones.

On the night before Hermione’s last exam, Ginny set a bottle of champagne and a note in front of her with a knowing smirk.

_Party at The Burrow when you’re done tomorrow._

_Lots of luck,_

_(even though you don’t need it)_

_Ron_

She flew through her exam the next day, confident and so relieved to be done, she didn't even bother going home. Instead she went straight to The Burrow, which appeared remarkably busy as she approached. All of the tables were pushed together to make a long one, the Weasley family and Harry filling the seats. There was a handwritten sign on the door: _closed for a private party._

When she knocked on the glass, ten heads swiveled toward the door, but it was Ron who sprinted to open it. 

“You’re done?” 

She smiled, holding up the bottle of champagne she’d kept in her bag all day.

“Done.”

“She’s done!” he yelled over his shoulder, grabbing the bottle. “Charlie, open this.”

There was a pop and cheers as Ron led Hermione to the seat next to his. Plates of food were uncovered--ham, roasted potatoes, fresh bread--and glasses filled to the brim.

“This is all for me?” Hermione said to Ron, bewildered.

“Think a lot of yourself, don’t you? It’s _partly_ for you, part Weasley Christmas.”

“A week early?”

“Bill and Fleur leave for France tomorrow, so we’re celebrating now. Just so happens you have good timing so we can cheers to you being free.” He clinked his glass with hers. “How’d you do?”

“Good, I think. I won’t know for a couple weeks.”

“Then don’t think about it for a couple weeks.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“And I can’t promise I won’t nag you the whole time so you have to think about something else.”

He smiled, and suddenly Hermione was very much thinking about something else.

She downed her glass.

“Refill, please.” 

“‘Atta girl.”

The party carried on well into the evening, with carols and trifle and hot toddies. Hermione was warm all over, leaning contentedly against her chair, where Ron’s arm was slung across the back.

“So, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said to Hermione with a smile, her cheeks flushed pink. “What are your plans for Christmas day? You know you’re more than welcome at ours if you’ve nowhere to go.”

“She’ll be with her family, Mum,” Ron said, as if this was not the first time he’d had to say it.

“She could bring her family, now couldn’t she?”

“There she goes,” said George. “Ready to meet the in-laws.”

“Hermione, how do your parents feel about sharing grandchildren?” asked Fred. “We only ask for Easter, Boxing Day, and every other Tuesday.”

“Like we’d ever leave them with you lot,” Ron said, smiling, his thumb absently grazing Hermione’s shoulder.

“Well then, if we won’t see you on Christmas day,” Mrs. Weasley said, and she handed Hermione a small package. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, the folds uneven and taped as if whatever was inside might escape.

“Ron wrapped it,” Ginny said, smiling behind her champagne glass. 

“But it’s from all of us,” Ron added quickly. 

“But it was Ronald’s idea,” Mr. Weasley said brightly.

“For heaven’s sake, let her open it,” Mrs. Weasley hiccuped with a warm smile.

Hermione did her best to hide the tremble in her fingers as she unfolded the paper.

“Oh,” she breathed.

It was a card holder, sterling silver, engraved with _HGJ_ in elegant, looping script. 

“Got the middle initial from Ginny,” Ron said quietly. “Hope that’s alright.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione said with a shaky laugh, daring to look up at him. “I love it.”

Then she remembered there were nearly a dozen other people in the room, and pried her eyes away.

“I love it,” she said again. “Thank you all, so much.”

“Anything for the first lawyer in the family,” Fred grinned, raising his glass in triumph. 

Hermione’s heart caught on the words _in the family_ , but before she could respond, George raised his glass too.

“Lord knows we’ll need one someday.”

x

The party went long into the night, until finally the sound of laughter and clinking glasses was replaced by the scrape of chairs and murmured goodbyes

“Oh, he’d kill me for saying this,” Mrs. Weasley said as she hugged Hermione. “But be kind to him, love. Promise me.”

Hermione nodded without a second thought.

She made no effort to leave, continuing to gather dishes and wipe down tables instead. Ginny gave her a knowing look as she left, but Hermione gave one right back, watching as Harry waited for her, Ginny’s coat draped over his arm.

Ron locked the door behind them, the click of the deadbolt exceedingly loud in the now empty shop. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, as Hermione wiped down the tables. 

“I don’t mind.”

But there was a tug on her wrist, and when she turned, he was holding a piece of paper.

“There’s one more thing. It’s not a gift, exactly, I just wanted to wait until...well, just look.”

It was an ad, or at least, a mock-up of one. The Burrow logo sat at the top, the hours below it, and for each day of the week, there was an event. There were half off specialty drinks on Mondays, unlimited refills for uni students on Tuesdays.

“Story Time Saturdays?” Hermione asked, unable to hide her grin.

“Just an idea,” Ron said. “I did some research and it’s a young family neighborhood, you know? The library’s closed on the weekend so I thought maybe parents would want another option or...something.” He looked at her, his lower lip caught between his thumb and forefinger. 

“So what d’you think?”

Her limbs were loose from champagne, and when she launched herself at him in a hug, it sent him reeling back a bit, laughing softly as he righted them.

“I think it’s brilliant,” she whispered.

“‘Course you do.” He smiled into her hair. “It was your idea.”

x

As tempting as Mrs. Weasley’s invitation was, Hermione went home for Christmas. She hadn’t seen her parents since the start of term, and something about getting on a train made it feel like a real holiday, even if it was only to Birmingham.

Ginny’s gift to Hermione didn’t reveal itself until the night of Christmas, when her phone rang with Ron’s full name flashing on her screen.

“Ron?”

“Hermione?” He sounded like he was smiling as he said it. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“Ginny changed your name in my contacts. Is your middle name really Bilius?”

“Oh for the love of-- _Ginny_ ,” he yelled away from the phone. “Alright, I’ll deal with her later. How are you? I’m not interrupting family stuff, am I?”

“No, Mum and Dad went to bed, and I’m reading by the fire.”

“You got your textbooks for next term already?”

“Ha bloody ha.”

She could almost hear him grin into the phone.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the present.”

She’d agonized over choosing a chess set before she found the right one; hand carved from real oak, it reminded her of the scratched wooden floor of The Burrow, its imperfections left in the grain.

“Is it alright? It’s not engraved or anything--”

“No, it’s brilliant. Harry and I have already played two games--he says ‘hi’ by the way.”

“Hi back.”

There was a long pause, but a comfortable one. Hermione settled further into her chair by the fire, a blanket curled around her legs.

“So go on,” Ron said. “I know you’re bursting to tell me. How’d you do?”

“Full marks,” Hermione said proudly.

“‘Course. Did you let yourself enjoy it all before you started thinking about next term?”

“I’ll have you know I had dessert before dinner.”

“Wild.”

She knew he was grinning now.

“But there _is_ a lot to think about, you know. I’ll start hearing back from firms about training contracts soon, if I hear back from them at all.”

“Oh don’t be modest, it’s not your color. Where’d you apply?”

“Everywhere, feels like. The firms are mostly London based, but there’s also Liverpool, Leeds, even Edinburgh.”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” said Ron. “Right. Hadn’t thought...but yeah, of course, you could go anywhere.”

There was disappointment in his voice, but awe too.

“I don’t have to think about it just yet,” Hermione said quickly. Really, she didn’t _want_ to think about it. She’d applied to those firms months before she’d ever set foot in The Burrow, with equal parts excitement and trepidation. Now dread coiled in her stomach when she thought of where they might take her. Where she would be next Christmas, if phone calls like these would be all that was left, if there would be anything left at all.

Ron was silent again, and Hermione knew, rather than wondered, he was thinking about it too.

“Why law?” he asked after a long while. 

Hermione considered this, fingers playing at the tassels on the blanket. Ron waited patiently on the other end, his even breathing the only sign he was still there.

“I was safety monitor in primary school,” she said finally.

“Okay,” Ron laughed. “Not entirely surprising, but go on.”

“There was this boy who terrorized everyone. Truly awful, the brat. One day he stole this little girl’s pencil case and took off running.”

“Were you the little girl?”

“Hush. Anyway, I chased after him, even though we weren’t supposed to run in the halls, and I caught him. Of course, there was a teacher right behind us and we both spent our lunches in the head’s office for the rest of the week. But I got the pencil case back and when I gave it to the girl, she was just so happy.” 

Hermione remembered the case was shaped like a slice of watermelon, the girl’s smile just as wide. 

“I think I’ve chased that feeling ever since. Righting wrongs, being a voice for those who don’t have one.” She wrinkled her nose. “It sounds awfully haughty when I say it like that.”

“No, it sounds…” Ron trailed off. “Anyone would be lucky to have you defend them, Hermione, no matter where you wind up.”

Hermione blinked away from the firelight. 

“When do you get home?” His voice was closer, like he was cradling the phone on his shoulder, the word _home_ right up against her ear.

“Tomorrow, maybe the day after, we’ll see. When does the shop open back up?”

“Tomorrow, maybe the day after.” There was a soft smile in his voice. “We’ll see.”

x

_Back to work. I’ve put a “Reserved” sign on your chair._

_It’s high time, really. How’s Harry?_

_Miserable. He and Ginny are acting like everything’s fine but they’re shit at it. I’m about to lock them in a room and I don’t really care what they do while they’re in there, as long as they figure it out._

_Oh you so too care what they do._

_Only if it’s my room._

x

_Happy New Year! x_

_Oh yeah, real happy, watching Mum and Dad snog at midnight._

_You’re cheery._

_And you’re a liar. “Tomorrow, maybe the day after”._

_Pardon me for catching a cold. Would you rather I be there getting you sick?_

_I’d risk it._

_Well, that’s just terrible hygiene for someone in the food service industry._

_On second thought, stay home a bit longer. You’re not missed._

_Not at all?_

_Not a bit._

_See you tomorrow. Really this time._

_Good. Happy New Year x_

x

If Hermione could have teleported home, she would have. 

It was the lack of routine that made her rush to get back, she told herself, as she hurriedly packed her things. It was the need for tea on a cold January day that made her go straight to The Burrow, suitcase still in hand.

Ron had kept her apprised of publicity efforts while she was away. Ginny set up an Instagram account for the shop, taking artistic shots of the drinks, the menu, the bookshelf. There was a slow-motion video of Ron drawing the heart in a latte, and Ginny’s caption read: _any takers?_

Even with The Burrow’s new social media presence, Hermione was relieved to find upon return that it was still the same. The familiar sign above the door, the warm yellow light inside spilling onto the sidewalk, Ron behind the register--

But no, it wasn’t all the same.

There was a girl in the shop, with wild, curly blonde hair and curves made more pronounced by the way she leaned over the counter. 

“...absolutely adorable,” the girl drawled to Ron as Hermione walked in. “Really, just _so_ quaint, not like the Starbucks on every corner.”

Ron looked bored, until he glanced up to find Hermione, and then he looked saved.

“Darling!” he cried, in a way so unnatural and so un-Ron that Hermione nearly laughed. 

Or she would have, if he had not strode purposefully toward her, taken her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Technically, it was a kiss, in that his mouth was pressed against hers, but that was where the comparison ended. He pulled away with a large smacking sound, then slung an arm around her shoulder.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, eh? I missed you too. Oh, Lavender, meet my girlfriend Hermione. Hermione, this is Lavender.”

Hermione mustered a smile. Lavender did not.

“Well, I’ll be off then. Thanks for my namesake latte, Ronny,” she winked, waving her phone. “I’ll post this tonight and tag you, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure. Bye then.”

Hermione waited until Lavender had fully turned the corner before shoving Ron’s arm away, punching him for good measure.

“Ow! Bloody hell, Hermione--”

“What on _earth_ was that?”

“What? Oh, her?” Ron rolled his eyes. “Some Instagram girl, I dunno. Came here after the holiday and has shown up every day since. Not likely to come by anymore though, thank god.”

“Ron,” Hermione seethed. “Listen to me _very_ carefully. You _never_ kiss someone without their consent, and you _certainly_ don’t do it just because you’re too much of a coward to tell a girl you don’t like her!”

Ron grimaced, properly contrite.

“Well, yeah, when you put it like that, it sounds…”

“Despicable? Immature? Honestly Ron, you kiss me for the first time all to get rid of another girl, you should be ashamed—” 

“I’m sorry! I panicked. It’s no excuse, I know--wait, what d’you mean ‘the first time’?” 

Hermione gaped a bit, floundering in the remnants of her anger.

“What did she mean she was going to ‘tag you’?” she said quickly. 

“I dunno,” Ron said, eyeing her. “Like I said, she does something on Instagram. She took all these pictures posing with her drink...”

Hermione pulled out her phone as he talked. It didn’t take long to find her; _@fieldsoflavender_ had a quarter of a million followers, and shot after shot of her at various restaurants and cafes around the city, selfies with pouty lips and ridiculously long eyelashes.

“Ron, she’s an influencer! She probably wants to feature The Burrow!”

“So what?”

“So,” she drew out impatiently. “250,000 people follow her, do you know what that could mean for business?”

“I don’t want that business. I don’t want people coming here because some dolt with a ring light told them to.”

“Well, you might get your wish, thanks to your stunt,” she spat. “I’m texting Ginny and telling her to make sure the account follows her back, that might undo some of the damage.”

“It was barely a kiss,” Ron muttered. 

Hermione typed furiously on her phone.

“Understatement of the year.”

x

It worked.

It wasn’t noticeable at first. While Lavender’s post drove more followers to The Burrow’s page, its door remained quiet, and Hermione found herself equal parts relieved and disappointed.

“So much for that,” she said one afternoon, from her place in the blue armchair.

“Yeah, I’m really crying my eyes out,” said Ron, handing her a new mug. “Try that, tell me if it’s good.”

“What is it?”

“New tea latte I’m thinking of adding to the menu.”

Hermione brought the mug to her lips.

It smelled...well, it smelled like her. Part vanilla, like the hand lotion she carried with her, part rose, like the perfume she wore on special occasions and holidays. 

When she took a sip, it warmed her from head to toe.

“You don’t like it,” Ron said with a frown.

“No, I do,” she said cautiously. “I just...how did you come up with it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “It’s weird, it’s like I got a song stuck in my head, but it was this smell instead. It’s been everywhere. So I started playing around, adding this and that, but I think I got it. I think so, anyway--what, why are you smiling?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No reason.”

x

The email itself didn’t surprise her.

It was who she wanted to tell first.

_Hey! Big news. Got a minute?_

His reply came quickly.

_Burrow. SOS._

Hermione didn’t respond. She just raced to the shop, her heart thundering the whole way. 

As she turned the block, she understood. The queue was out the door, down the steps and past the hedgerows that lined the front. Inside was packed, every table taken, while people stood in clumps around the bar waiting for drinks. Hermione pushed her way through the crowd to where Ron manned the line.

“What happened?” Hermione yelled over the din of the crowd.

“Lavender,” Ron yelled back, packing espresso into the machine. He flipped two mugs under the spouts and pressed two sets of buttons. Hermione didn’t even know it could make two at a time.

“She posted something about half off her ‘signature drink’--signature drink my arse--and it’s been like this since this morning.”

“She can’t do that!”

“Oh good, tell her that, won’t you?” He plopped down two takeaway cups on the bar. “Anyway, grab an apron and get back here.”

“What?” Hermione’s eyes went wide. “No, Ron, I don’t know the first thing--” “You’re a fast learner. You can take over for Harry at the register, or you can do drip coffee and tea.” Ron grabbed a spare apron from a hook on the wall and slipped it over her head. 

“Remember when you said you’d kill to be a barista?” he said, close to her ear. “Now’s your chance.”

The queue never seemed to end, and she, Harry, and Ron never stopped moving, alternating stations, jumping in where needed. It was nearly dinner by the time the crowd dispersed, and when the last table cleared, Harry locked the door behind them.

“We don’t close for another three hours,” Ron said from where he slumped against the counter, but it wasn’t much of a protest.

“Dock my pay, then. I can’t stand for another second.”

“How very generous of you,” Hermione said, leaning against the counter next to Ron. He grinned at her.

“Well done, soldier. Ready to quit school yet? Barrister to barista?”

“Ugh that’s terrible,” she laughed, pushing his arm.

“Hey,” he said, picking up her hand, suddenly serious. “What happened here?”

There was a sizable red welt at the base of her thumb.

“Burn, I guess.”

“When did that happen?”

“I don’t know. Around the millionth _lavender latte_ , I’d imagine.”

“You should have said something.”

“Well I didn’t have much of a chance, did I?”

“Oi, you two,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “Take it somewhere else.”

“Come on,” Ron said, taking her hand gently and leading her to a back storage area she hadn’t seen before. Ron pulled a rope from the ceiling and stairs unfolded before them.

“Careful,” he said, still clasping her hand as they made the steep climb.

It was an attic-turned-flat, with a kitchenette on one side and a bed on the other. 

“Sit,” Ron instructed, as he ducked into the bathroom, rummaging underneath the sink. There weren’t many options, Hermione observed, as the one sitting chair was buried under a mountain of clothes. She took a careful seat on the edge of the unmade bed, a patchwork quilt in crumpled knots over the flannel sheets. She ran her fingers across the stitching, gold thread that glinted against swathes of maroon. One patch bore an elegant R, another a block letter W.

Ron returned, crouching in front of her with two small bottles and a roll of bandages.

“I can do that,” she said, without much of a fight.

“There are very few things I’m an expert on, but how to treat a burn is one of them.”

She watched as he tended to it, first with a cooling gel, then a lotion.

“How many do you have?” Hermione said, as he finished applying the bandage.

“How much time have you got?” He took a seat next her, pulling up his sleeves. “Hot water splash,” he said, pointing to a raised bit of skin below his wrist. Then, on the pad of his thumb, “first time using the steamer.”

“What about that one?” Hermione said, pointing to a thin line on his left ring finger. It looked newer than the others, a bit pinker where the other ones had faded to silver.

“Slicing lemons,” he said with a soft laugh. “The night you came in, actually.”

“For my tea?”

“Yeah. Surprised you didn’t hear me swearing in the back.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione was still holding his hand, his palm turned up as she lightly traced the scar.

“I’m not.” She glanced up to find him already looking at her. “That was a good night.”

“Better than today?” she asked, sounding braver than she felt.

“Well, that’s not fair,” he said with a grin. “We actually made a profit today.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away, but he caught it, capturing it between his own.

Moments like these were piling on top of one another, so tall now, Hermione could no longer see the top. It would only take a nudge, a breath, from one of them to send it all toppling down.

“God, I’m such a prat,” Ron said suddenly. “You said you had news.”

She'd completely forgotten.

“I heard from a firm in Leeds,” she said, more to the bandage on her hand than him. “I go in for an interview Monday after next.”

Ron didn’t say anything. When she could finally bring herself to look at him, he was smiling, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well now,” he said. “That sounds like a reason to celebrate. What’ll it be, sleep or food?

She sniffed, then laughed, quickly swiping under her eye.

“Food sounds good.”

x

Leeds was just the beginning.

She went for the weekend, at the encouragement of the firm.

“Spend some time, see if it’s a good fit.”

Hermione could think of exactly one place she’d ever fit in.

Still, she kept an open mind. She wandered the city streets, toured a flat, found a cafe on every corner, and found them all lacking.

She called Ron after her interview, but there was no answer.

_Swamped,_ his text said _. Call you tonight. Hope it went well x_

She put her phone back in her pocket, feeling much farther than two hundred miles away.

It was nearly 9:00 by the time Ron called. Hermione was settled in her hotel room, watching the lights of the city flicker beyond the windows.

“Sorry,” he breathed. She could tell he was jogging up to the attic. “Not used to having to kick people out at closing. Tell me everything.”

Hermione shrugged.

“It went well, I think.”

It was an understatement. The board had nodded appreciatively at her CV, at the answers to their questions. It had ended with a tour of the office and “we’ll be in touch” that sounded more like a promise than a brush off.

“That’s great,” he said, his voice too bright. “Did you like it? How’s the city?”

“It’s nice. Different, but beautiful.”

There was an audible _flop_ , no doubt onto an unmade bed.

“Sounds like you’ll fit right in.”

Hermione’s cheeks blazed in the dark.

“Ron Weasley, are you flirting?”

“Dunno. Is it working?”

She pressed her head against the cool pane of the window.

“Not a bit.”

x

Things went back to normal when she got home.

At least, what passed for normal these days.

The Burrow was consistently busy now, but so was Hermione. In between the London firm interviews, there were her studies, which had ramped up to a level of work that made it impossible to get ahead. 

Still, whatever spare moments she had, she spent behind the counter at The Burrow.

“I’m official then?” Hermione asked when Ron handed her a name tag.

“Officially mad. You can’t possibly have time for this.”

She didn’t, but when had that ever stopped her from going after what she wanted?

And she wanted time with him.

Something had shifted between them after Leeds, as if the pronounced distance brought them that much closer. Hands lingered on shoulders and waists as they moved around the shop, lips on cheeks as they said their goodbyes at night. 

It was maddening and exhilarating, precarious and wonderful. 

“It’s stupid,” said Ginny one morning, as Hermione, bleary-eyed, got ready for her shift before class. “Far be it for me to suggest anyone shag my brother, but in this case, I think it’d be a public service.”

It caught up with her though, the long days of class and work and longer nights of studying. 

“When was the last time you took a break?” Ron asked her during one afternoon shift. 

“I’ll take one in a minute.”

“Yeah, you said that an hour ago. And I don’t mean here, I mean a _break_. You look terrible.”

“Stop, I’m swooning.”

He took her gently by the shoulders and turned her toward the storage area, untying her apron strings as he did.

“Go upstairs and rest.”

“But we’re busy--”

“Charlie’s coming in an hour, I’ll manage until then.”

Hermione had never been in his flat by herself. The bed was still unmade, clothes thrown haphazardly onto the few pieces of furniture, and the whole place smelled vaguely of wet towels.

She fell asleep before she could find the will to care.

It was dark when she woke, and something was tickling her feet.

“Ron?” she croaked.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered at the foot of the bed. “Just taking off your shoes.”

“I like my shoes.” It felt like an important detail, but it was possible she was still half-asleep.

“Well, good. They’ll be right here by the bed.”

Ron tucked the quilt up by her shoulders and smoothed back her hair.

“‘Night,” he said, before moving away from the bed.

She grabbed his hand.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“What, and disturb the laundry?” She tugged on his hand again until he was sitting on the bed. “Stay.”

“Hermione--”

She pulled him beside her, shoes still on his feet. 

x

The Edinburgh interview was scheduled for the first week in April.

She wanted it nearly as bad as she wanted to kiss Ron. 

She was proud of her competitive edge; she wouldn’t have made it this far without it. But then she thought of the perfectly good, perfectly impressive London firms that would very likely make her an offer. Firms that would keep her local, keep her safe, keep her near everything she’d held dear these last few months.

A small part of her wondered if it would feel like settling. 

A smaller part wondered if she even cared.

Because she _was_ settled, a part of a routine that had nothing to do with class schedules, and everything to do with Ron being the first and last person she saw every day.

It wasn’t like she’d properly moved in. She still had a toothbrush at her flat, and most of her clothes. But she kept her books at his place for easy access, allowing her to run upstairs on breaks to squeeze in reading. Her route to and from school started and ended at The Burrow. She’d do her reading curled up in the armchair, stay to help Ron close, and then they’d walk up to the attic together without any conversation about it.

And still, she had not kissed him.

Not properly, anyway. Not in the way that, in the nights they’d spent huddled close enough but no closer, had gone from a _want_ to a _need_.

Ron, to his credit, had not so much as held her hand without her reaching for his first. She was grateful for it; grateful that he’d learned his lesson from the-kiss-that-must-not-be-named, but more than that, grateful that he knew her well enough to know that her comfort lay entirely in having a sense of control over the situation. 

But then sometimes he’d catch her eye across the shop, smiling like she was the only one in the room, and she’d think _to hell with control_.

And still...

March barrelled into April, and so too did her nerves. Hermione sought solace the only way she knew how, which was why the night before she was due to leave for Scotland, instead of going to her actual flat--where she still paid rent and had an enormous pile of laundry to sort--she went to The Burrow. 

Nights were just as busy with the evening study crowd as the daytime one, but the “closed” sign had been flipped early, and from the window she spotted Ron and his parents hunched over a table in deep discussion. Mrs. Weasley was talking animatedly, Mr. Weasley nodding in agreement, while Ron sat looking pensive, hand over his mouth as though he was sorting through his next chess move.

Cautiously, Hermione knocked on the door.

All three of them brightened when they saw her, Ron a little more so, though the intensity of the conversation had not quite left his eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, as he let her in. “I’m interrupting.”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Weasley warmly, gathering his hat and jacket. “We’d just about finished.”

“We’ll let you close properly,” Mrs. Weasley said, patting Ron’s cheek, then Hermione’s. “So sweet of you to help out, dear. Ron, walk her home when you’re through.”

Hermione dared not look at Ron. The longest walk they’d taken after closing was the dozen steps up to the attic.

“‘Course. Night Mum, Dad.”

Ron locked the door behind them, then leaned against it as he turned to face her.

“Alright?” she asked.

He took a step toward her, and she met him in the middle, folding herself into his arms. He let out a long breath into her hair, holding her fiercely close, as if she were the only thing keeping him upright.

“They’re thinking of selling,” he said at last. 

She pulled back, startled.

“No.”

“They got an offer today.”

“Is that…” Hermione searched his face. “I mean, I suppose that’s good, isn’t it? It means you’re doing well. _Really_ well.”

“Yeah, so well that Mum and Dad want me to decide.”

Hermione gaped, for the first time in her life, at a loss for words.

“My thoughts exactly,” Ron smiled, grimly, before scrubbing a hand over his face. “Can I make you something? Tea? You don’t have to drink it, I just have to do...something.”

“Sure.”

She pulled up a stool by the counter, listening as he talked and worked. He told her about the offer, a restaurant group that’d bought up similar places in the last few years, names Hermione recognized but couldn’t recall any specifics.

“And that’s just it, isn’t it?” Ron said as he steeped the tea. “They’re all the same. Same menu, same generic wall art, same jazz music playing on a loop.”

“I kind of like jazz.”

“Who’s side are you on?” he smirked, sliding the tea toward her. “Okay, distract me. How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

Hermione swirled the tea in her cup.

“Fine. A bit nervous.”

“Because it’s the one you want most.” It wasn’t a question.

“I suppose. I don’t know why, though. I got another offer from a firm here, did I tell you?” It was her third total. She’d been offered the one in Leeds, but turned it down, and there was another in London waiting for her answer.

“That’s great,” Ron said. It was his standard reply, always, and while Hermione didn’t doubt that he meant it, it didn’t escape her notice that his enthusiasm waned with every piece of news.

“It is.”

“But,” he continued. “You don’t want to take it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Ron considered her for a moment.

“Can I ask you something? And you’ve got to promise not to fly off the handle when I do?”

“You’re off to a great start.”

But Ron was undeterred.

“Is Edinburgh your first choice because you really want it or because it’s the best?”

Hermione blinked at him.

“I don’t understand the question.” 

“You’ve got two offers right here in London. Are they good ones? Well-respected? Would you have your pick of jobs after training?”

She shifted in her seat, scratching at an invisible spot on the counter.

“Yes.” 

“Okay, so, what I’m saying is...why Edinburgh? If you’ve got a whole binder with color-coded reasons why it’s the best fit--and I’ve no doubt you do--then by all means, Hermione, I’ll drive the moving van myself.”

He would, too, and she knew it. 

“But,” he continued, walking around the counter as he did. “If you’re going just to go, just to prove that you can, then…” he took her hands in his, dipped his head until their foreheads barely touched.

“I really, _really_ wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why’s that?” she whispered.

Ron carefully, gently, took her face in his hands, eyes searching. 

“What?” Hermione breathed, after a long minute.

He smiled, sheepish.

“I’m waiting for you to...you know, say it’s okay.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, and crushed her mouth to his. 

It was frantic at first, months of waiting finally unleashed with hands and mouths and teeth. Ron hoisted her on to the counter, dipping his head to reach her jaw, her cheek, her neck. With every single light in the place still on, with the counter in full view of the front windows, it was easily the most reckless thing she’d ever done.

_To hell with control._

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Ron breathed as they finally parted for air.

“As long as I have, I’ll bet.”

“Longer,” Ron grinned, his hand at the back of her neck, pulling her in again. “I promise.”

They kissed as Ron lowered the stairs to the attic, they kissed all the way up. They kissed as they shed jackets and shoes, undid belts and buttons. They kissed and they laughed, breathless, until there was nothing left between them, until nothing was funny anymore.

x

It was still dark when Hermione woke. She turned to face the clock on the nightstand, and found Ron awake, already facing her.

“It’s 3:00,” she murmured into the pillow. “Have you slept?”

Ron shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“A little.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned further into the pillow.

“Oh get over yourself,” he said. “I’ve smelled your morning breath for weeks.”

“It’s different now.”

Ron searched her eyes.

“Is it?”

Hermione nodded.

“In all the good ways. But it’s still very much the same. Isn’t that odd?”

“No,” he said, his hand sliding over her hip to pull her toward him. “Not a bit.”

x

“What’ll you do if you sell?” Hermione asked. It was nearly sunrise, the first hints of morning casting the room in greys and blues.

Ron stared up at the ceiling, his fingers tracing her shoulder.

“I don’t know. I honestly haven’t a bloody clue.”

“Would the new owners keep you on?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t really have a say in things anymore, though, would I? I’d hate it.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. Light continued to filter through the lone window, and she turned away from it, burying her face in his neck.

x

“Why is it called ‘The Burrow’?” 

Hermione’s voice was tired, but she was wide awake, staring at their joined hands.

“It’s what we call our house,” Ron said, tightening his hold on her. “The one we grew up in.” 

He kissed her shoulder.

“It’s after 6:00,” he said. “You have to go.”

Hermione said it before she even knew it was what she wanted.

“Come with me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!

The shop already smelled like coffee when Hermione came downstairs

Spring sunlight poured through the windows, the machines whirring to life while Ron wiped down the tables. It was a familiar sight, one she’d seen a thousand times over the last few months, but it looked different now that she could map from memory every single place he’d touched her. 

She was blushing when he smiled at her.

“Didn’t get around to it last night,” Ron said, nodding to his work.

Hermione smiled weakly.

“Sorry.”

“Better not be.” He held out a hand, and when she took it, he pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. 

He had not answered her yet. 

He hadn’t said anything, really, just gotten out of bed and started the hunt for clothes that had been tossed with abandon the night before. 

It was a big ask, Hermione told herself, he was merely processing, making mental arrangements for who could run the shop for the weekend.

But no, that had been her, hadn’t it? It always had, and always would be, and in that moment, Hermione felt very tired. Tired of being the one to ask, to solve, to lead. Just this once, when she’d gotten to answer, she would have liked to find him there first.

“About Edinburgh,” Ron began, but Hermione already knew.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Were you going to say yes?” 

“I was going to explain why I can’t.”

The sadness that had seeped in all morning turned to anger. 

“It’s fine,” she said again. “You’re not good at this stuff, you told me so. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t give me that, Hermione. This isn’t a party, it’s your life.”

“Yes, it is, and I’m asking you to come with me and see what that might look like.”

“No, you’re asking me to watch you fall in love with the place that’s going to take you away.”

The words hung there, loud and unflinching in the empty space.

“It might not,” she said hoarsely.

“It might. It probably will. And that’s okay,” he said, his hands tightening around her own in earnest. “That’s how it should be. If I go with you, it’ll muddy everything, and you deserve to go into this as clear-headed as possible. I need to figure out if I’m going to keep or sell this place, and if I go with you…”

He left the rest unspoken, but Hermione knew he was right. 

She glanced toward the front of the shop. A few people had gathered outside, waiting for the shop to open. It all seemed so terribly unfair.

“You need to open up,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ron said, rubbing a hand over his tired face. He tugged her close again, kissing her soft and quick. 

“Go be brilliant,” he whispered.

x

And she was.

x

Ron drove the moving van, as promised.

Even it took a bit to get there.

There was the coming home after the interview, how Hermione hadn’t really had to say anything. She just looked at him across the shop and he nodded, leaving Harry to mind the front while he took her upstairs. 

“You asked me before why Edinburgh,” she said, determined to keep her voice steady as they sat on his bed, hands clasped. “If I really wanted it or if it was just because it was the best. I thought they were one in the same, but I get it now. It’s not just that it’s the best, because it is, but because it really is the right place for me. The things the firm is doing, what they fight for…”

“Stolen pencil cases?” Ron offered with a weak smile, and Hermione laughed.

“Something like that.” 

“That’s great,” he said, for what must have been the millionth time, only now he truly sounded like he meant it. “I’m really happy for you, Hermione.”

“And you?” she asked, blinking through tears. “Did you decide?”

He stared at their hands, running a thumb over hers.

“I’m not going to sell. Which, as most of my brothers have told me, is barking mad, and they’re probably right, but…” he shrugged.

“I don’t think that’s mad,” Hermione said, ducking her head to meet his eyes. “I think you’re the bravest person in your family.”

“You’ve never seen Ginny on the pitch, then.”

They stayed like that for a while, hands clasped, Hermione resting her head on his shoulder. She could hear the hum of the shop downstairs, the clink of mugs and glasses, Harry’s muffled voice calling out drinks. 

“We should go help him out,” Hermione said.

“In a minute,” Ron said, pulling her closer.

She didn’t argue.

There was the packing, which felt more like moving officially out of her flat and into Ron’s for the remaining weeks, but Hermione couldn’t help but notice that as her boxes piled up, so too did the ones in Ginny’s room.

“So can we stop pretending you’re not back together?” Hermione asked her one morning, as Harry emerged from the bathroom in a pink robe that was slightly too big for him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Ginny said, taking a long sip of her coffee.

It was a long, lovely summer, full of days in the shop and nights in the attic flat. Of family dinners and Ginny’s games, Bill’s concerts and a going-away party in which she’d had no say.

Because as much as Hermione loved this family, loved their ability to take a patched-up tablecloth and a pot of stew and call it a party, she didn’t feel worthy of it. Not for this, at least.

But still she went, as if there were any other option. Ginny had turned the small patch of grass their landlord dared to call a backyard into just that, with drinks and small plates and music. There was a casual football game going in the alley, Ron and Harry holding their own against Fred and George while Ginny barked plays from the sidelines. Hermione watched it all from the gate, laughing into her drink as Ron attempted a save and pirouetted instead. 

“Never was a natural athlete, that one,” said Mrs. Weasley, coming to stand beside her, smiling with a fondness Hermione was sure matched her own. “Didn’t stop him from trying, though. Had to keep up with the older ones--and the youngest.”

She sighed as Ginny shoved Ron aside to both block a goal and score one of her own.

“He’s done all right,” Hermione said quietly.

“That he has,” Mrs. Weasley agreed, turning to her with a smile. “We’ve got you to thank for part of that.”

Hermione shook her head.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Mrs. Weasley studied Hermione, then turned back to the game, her voice gentle as she said, “He was ready to quit, you know, just about this time last year. Sat me and Arthur down and told us he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t watch the door stay so quiet day after day. I think he felt it was his fault somehow, even though the shop had been like that for ages. We weren’t quite ready to part with it, of course, to leave it in someone else’s hands, but we said we’d try. 

“Then out of the blue, he changed his mind. Said he wanted to stick it out a bit longer, just to see. Now I’m no lawyer,” she said with a wink. “Nor a genius, but it doesn’t take one to figure out why.”

Hermione could only shake her head again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice uneven.

“For what?”

Hermione shrugged, Mrs. Weasley searching her eyes until realization dawned.

“Ah dear,” she said, squeezing Hermione’s hand. “Your leaving isn’t what has him hurt. It’s why he loves you in the first place, all the reasons you have to go. And, if you don’t mind my saying so, you love him for all the reasons he’s staying.”

They had never said it out loud, but Hermione knew it was never going to be a declaration between them. It would always be a quiet understanding, something they’d known for a while, even if they couldn’t put the word to it. 

“It’s terrible timing,” Hermione said quietly.

“It could be better, I s’pose,” Mrs. Weasley agreed with a sad smile. “But that’s all it is really; time. It’ll pass, no matter what, and you’ll both come out the other side. And maybe, if you’re very lucky--”

But Mrs. Weasley did not finish her thought as a cheer erupted from the alley. Ron made a narrow, but spectacular save, and as he beamed at Hermione, she understood perfectly.

x

In the end, they said everything but goodbye.

Fall had already arrived in Edinburgh by the time Hermione moved the first weekend in September, the beech trees that lined her street already burnished in red and gold leaves. It reminded her of the quilt on Ron’s bed, the one they’d been tangled up in just that morning. 

It already felt like another lifetime.

“Everything I want to say sounds stupid,” Hermione said, wiping a tear on his shirt.

They were standing on the curb just outside her flat, holding each other. Hermione’s ear was pressed against his heart, Ron’s chin resting on her head as he stroked her hair.

“Like what?” he asked.

“‘Keep in touch’? ‘Take care’?”

“Oof, yeah, those are bad.”

She pushed at him, but did not let go.

“Let’s not make it a big thing, yeah?” Ron said, pulling back to look at her. “If it’s a long goodbye, it’ll feel, I dunno...final.”

Hermione nodded, mustering a watery smile. 

“All right.”

Ron tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and kissed her quickly.

“Keep in touch,” he murmured against her lips, and she laughed.

Hermione waved as he drove away, standing on the sidewalk long after the van disappeared from view. 

When she went back inside, she pushed past the boxes as she moved toward the bedroom, stopping short at the entryway.

She didn’t know how she’d missed it, how he’d managed to pull it off without her noticing, but there was no mistaking it.

The blue armchair-- _her_ chair from the shop--sat in the corner, next to where her bookshelf would go, the late afternoon sun shining on it like a spotlight

Hermione curled into it, pressed her face into the well-worn fabric, and cried.

x

Time, indeed, passed.

Slowly, at first. A new city, a new life; it was all too familiar to that time last year when Hermione had stood crying in the rain, searching for one home and miraculously finding another.

But slowly, too, did she find her way. She owed to herself for everything it’d taken to get there, the work and the sacrifices, to make it count. Those first few weekends she spent exploring her neighborhood, finding used bookstores and a good deli, a pub that had a quiz night on Mondays. 

She made tea at home. 

At first, she and Ron talked constantly, texts first thing in the morning and phone calls every night. There was a desperate note to every conversation, like if there was even a moment’s silence, it was proof that this thing between them could not survive the distance.

She told him about the cat she’d adopted, how her boss was a Scottish woman who could kill you with a single look. He told her about Ginny being promoted from the reserves to playing full-time, how Harry had bought out her jersey online and that Hermione should expect hers in the mail any day.

But eventually, inevitably, the calls stopped and the texts slowed.

Hermione dated, a little.

Nothing serious; a football player with the local club, a fellow intern at her office who asked if she’d help him look over some transcripts, and not until the takeaway arrived did Hermione realize that they’d barely talked about work at all.

There was a stab of something when he asked her out properly, guilt mingled with regret, and had it not been for the way Lavender had recently popped up on The Burrow’s social media page, Hermione might have said no.

It wasn’t revenge. It was just their time, an unspoken acknowledgement that they were moving on, not because they wanted to, but because life demanded it. 

It was late fall when she got a text from Ron, two months since his last, longer still since she’d stopped keeping count.

It was a link to a write up about The Burrow.

 _Tell me if I sound like a git_ , read the text.

There was a picture of the whole Weasley family in front of the shop, then a single one of Ron leaning on the counter, arms crossed, crooked smile in place. 

_Ronald Weasley, the youngest son and current manager of The Burrow, attributes its newfound success to what his parents started all those years ago._

_“It was out of love,” he says. “Love for us, love for each other; we’re at our best when we’re all home, tripping over one another, doing dishes after dinner and having a water fight instead. That feeling of being home and being yourself; that’s what we’re trying to capture here.”_

She texted back, _You sound like you._

_Is that a yes?_

Hermione smiled.

x

_one year later_

“Granger,” McGonagall barked from her office.

Hermione appeared at her door instantly. It was near impossible to get on her boss’ good side, but punctuality helped.

“What’s this about requesting time off?”

“Just a Friday, ma’am, so I can go to London for a wedding.” 

The invitation had arrived months ago, and Hermione had panicked briefly as she held the heavy cardstock envelope. Her first thought was Ginny and Harry, then panicked further at the thought of Ron. But it was Bill and Fleur’s name she found in looping script, and it’d been agony to RSVP with caveats.

“You’re in the middle of a case, are you not?”

Hermione held her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting.

“I am, but--”

“Were you aware that I myself did not take a single day off during my training contract?”

“I wasn’t,” Hermione said. “But it does not surprise me, ma’am.”

McGonagall cracked a smile.

“Were you also aware that you’re working harder than anyone else at this firm, short of myself?”

Hermione returned the smile, standing a little taller.

“I can’t say that surprises me either.”

“Then in this case, I’ll allow it. Provided you’re reachable by phone and email all weekend and that you do not fall behind.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

She started to hastily retreat when McGonnagall called her again.

“These friends of yours; you must be quite close to take the time.”

Hermione answered honestly.

“They’re more like family, ma’am.”

She texted Ginny as soon as she got back to her desk.

_Tell Bill I’ll be there._

x

The Burrow--the original one--lived up to its coffeeshop counterpart. The same mismatched furniture and all manners of lighting, the same warm glow and inviting smell of a home cooked meal. 

It was a flurry of activity when Hermione arrived with a gift tucked under her arm, carefully navigating the uneven field in her heels. 

She found Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, looking harried but happy.

“Oh my dear, I’m so glad you could come! Presents on the table, I think Ginny’s upstairs getting ready if you’d like to see her--George, if you touch those rolls, so help me!”

Hermione extricated herself from the kitchen, past the mass of people huddling in the living room, before winding her way up the staircase. She was hurrying, jogging as fast as her heels would let her, when she collided with something solid.

“Sorry,” she said just as a familiar voice grumbled “Watch it.” 

Then, quietly, “Oh.”

Ron towered over her from the step above, recognition and surprise and something else flickering across his face.

“H-hi,” Hermione stammered with a laugh. 

“You made it,” Ron smiled. “Ginny wasn’t sure--”

“Work,” Hermione said simply.

“Right.”

They stood there, smiling at each other, neither making a move to leave. Not enough time had passed to really change him, but it was jarring nonetheless to see him, to be reminded that he was more than just a name in her phone. He was solid and real, sharp and devastatingly handsome in a navy blue suit.

“Nice tie,” Hermione said at last.

Ron smoothed a hand over the skinny tie, then rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Fleur will be glad to hear you say that. The ‘neck tie versus bow tie’ row was one for the books.”

“I bet.” 

“I was actually on my way to find Mum, but do you have any idea what to do with these?” He held up a boutonniere and a pin.

Hermione joined him on his step. It was much too narrow for two people, her arms lightly braced against his chest as she pierced the white rose through his lapel. He still smelled like coffee and woodsmoke, and something earthy too, something unique to this place.

It made her a little lightheaded, or maybe that was the way she could feel his eyes on her, watching her work.

“There,” she said, smoothing the lapel down unnecessarily.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. Then he cleared his throat, “I’ll see you--”

“After, yeah.”

They went their separate ways, Ron jogging downstairs, while Hermione took a moment, a steadying breath, then went up.

x

It was a beautiful ceremony, made more beautiful by the way Bill and Fleur looked at each other. There was a lot of that going around, the way Mr. Weasley kissed his wife’s hand, the way Ginny winked at Harry from the altar.

Even Ron, who met Hermione’s eyes, smiled and looked away, his ears tinged pink in the afternoon sun. 

Hermione had only a small sample of Weasley parties from which to compare, but the reception topped them all. There were drinks, dancing, and seemingly endless trays of food. Bill’s band played, driving a majority of guests away until only the most loyal remained. Hermione, desperate to catch her breath and find fresh air, emerged from the tent to find a cool fall night, the tall stalks of surrounding grass rustling in the breeze. She found a little wooden dock that led to a pond and leaned back on her hands, her sore feet dangling in the water.

“Careful,” came Ron’s voice behind her. “The fish bite.”

“There aren’t any fish.”

“There used to be” he said, handing her a glass of champagne before sitting beside her. His jacket was off, his tie undone, his hair messy and damp with sweat. “Fred and George won some goldfish at a school fair and decided this would be their new home.”

“Can’t imagine that ended well.”

“It did not,” he said, smiling at her. “How are you?”

“Tired,” she said. “But happy.”

“I reckon that goes for more than just tonight. Ginny says you’re killing it over there.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, come on.”

Hermione didn’t answer, but grabbed for her clutch. She pulled out her card holder and opened it, handing him a crisp business card. 

Ron whistled.

“Very official. I knew that would come in handy,” he said, tapping on the silver case.

“What about you?” Hermione knocked her shoulder with his. “Tired but happy?”

“Yeah, I think so. No business cards or anything, but I could afford them if I wanted to, so that’s something.”

“Oh, come on,” she echoed. “I know you’re doing better than that. You’re practically Instagram famous.”

He eyed her.

“You still follow us, eh?”

“Of course.”

Hermione kept her eyes on the water when she asked, “How’s Lavender?”

Ron laughed, leaning back on his hands.

“Fine, I guess. Not here, as you can see.” There was a beat before he asked, “How’s Carl?”

“Who?”

“That bloke from your office.”

“Cormac.”

“Whatever.”

Hermione shrugged.

“Not my plus one, as you can see.”

Ron huffed a laugh into his glass before taking a sip.

“Doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“You didn’t exactly answer mine.”

A loud thrum of electric guitar reverberated from the tent, followed by an even louder cheer.

“We broke up,” Ron said casually. “A while ago.”

Something about hearing it confirmed, even in the past tense, stung, but not as badly as Hermione thought it would. There was a sense of relief, too, at no longer having to bear the burden of wondering.

“So did we,” Hermione admitted. “If you can call it a breakup.”

“What d’you mean?”

“He stopped talking to me after our boss praised me in a meeting for a case we’d both worked on.”

“Wanker,” Ron muttered.

“Indeed.”

They bobbed their feet in the water in time to the music. Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in that earthy scent from earlier, and realized it was the surrounding fields, dewey in the evening chill. 

When she opened her eyes, Ron was looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I missed you.” It was an exhale, like he’d been holding it in all night, if not longer. “Didn’t realize how much until tonight.”

Hermione swallowed.

“Ron--”

“Can you meet me at the shop tomorrow? There’s something I want to...just, can you meet me? In the morning?”

“Yes.” 

“Thanks.” He smiled, then stood, offering his hand. “Heading back?”

“In a minute.”

“Mum’s going to put me to work cleaning up, so if I don’t see you--”

“Tomorrow,” she smiled. “Promise.”

“Good.” He gave her one last look before he turned, hands in his pockets, silhouetted against the bright white of the tent.

x

Hermione woke in her old room. 

It was bare now, save for the box spring and a miscellaneous pile of sports equipment that spilled out from the closet.

Harry and Ginny were at the dining room table when Hermione emerged, each with a section of the paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Morning sunshine,” Ginny greeted. “Joining us for breakfast?”

“Can’t,” Hermione said, avoiding her eyes as she slipped on her jacket. “I’m headed to the shop.” 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look.

“Stop,” Hermione warned, pointing between them. “Don’t do that thing where you talk with your eyes, it’s disgusting.”

“We don’t do that,” Harry insisted just as Ginny said “Are you getting back together?”

Hermione’s hands stilled around her scarf for only a moment before she continued wrapping it.

“No.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged another look, which Hermione pointedly ignored as she hugged them goodbye and took off for the shop.

She expected to find the usual morning rush, but it was as empty as it had been the first time she ever stepped inside.

No, she realized as she drew closer, it was emptier.

It was _empty_.

There were no tables, no chairs. The bookshelf was gone, the cupboards and shelves bare, and there was Ron in the middle of it all, leaning on the counter. Waiting.

Hermione grasped for words and landed stupidly on, “Were you robbed?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, surveying the empty space. “Middle of the night. I’m taking it remarkably well, though, don’t you think?”

“What--I don’t--”

“You lied last night,” Ron said. “You don’t follow our page anymore.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned.

“I did. For a while, and then…” she took a breath. “It got to be too much, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “I do.”

“But what does that have to do with--” “Right, so, things have changed a bit, as you can see. That’s how I knew you were lying; you didn’t say a thing about the announcement.”

“What announcement?”

Ron pulled out his phone and held it out to her.

_We’re moving!_

_Thank you to all of our customers for your support and patience during this transition. While we don’t know where The Burrow will go next, we are eager to once again open our doors and invite you into our home away from home._

Hermione stared at the screen for a long moment before she found her voice.

“Where are you going?”

Ron shrugged as he tucked the phone back in his pocket.

“Don’t know yet. But what I do know is that we’ve outgrown this space. Crowds got to be too big, there was nowhere to sit...”

Hermione grinned. “A bit better than ‘I can afford business cards’, sounds like.”

“More like, I bought out my parents. The Burrow’s mine, totally and completely. Which means,” he pushed off the counter, moving towards her. “It’s mine to do with as I please. I could find a bigger place here…”

He took her hand. 

“Or Edinburgh,” he said, taking the other. “Anywhere, really.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek.

“Birmingham?”

“Sure.”

“The States?”

“Your license is no good there, I checked.”

“I was kidding.”

“Thank god.”

She kissed him then, long and unhurried. 

They had plenty of time.

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> auraispurple is the heart drawn in my latte, now and always

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to auraispurple for her beta and true friendship


End file.
